


Personal Banquet

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Nadia and Portia take a day off with minimal interruptions. Unfortunately, mental intrusions are just as trying.
Relationships: Portia Devorak/Nadia
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	Personal Banquet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nadiavandyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadiavandyne/gifts).



> This is my FFEX gift for Nadiavandyne. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for giving me the chance to write these ladies.
> 
> Thank you to Phrenotobe for previewing this.

This red landscape could taint even Prakran sunsets. It is all the same vivid tone, from the sky bending over the empty horizon, to the blood at Nadia’s feet. The falling soldiers turn to ash, billowing across the plains. She reaches at her hip for a sword that isn’t there. Growling, she raises her fists, only to be restrained by shadowy hands.

When she turns, she finds only a void. Scuttling sounds echo in all the places she can’t see.

Nadia wakes with a lurch and a silent battle cry. She grasps at satin sheets, one handful warmer than the other. _Portia_. Nadia reaches for the shape of her and comes up empty.

Light leaks through the curtains around her bed. It would not be the first time her fiancé has woken before her, as if the Star she represents is the sun, bright at the crack of dawn. But Nadia’s nightmares of late recall the places she wandered during her coma. When she woke from that long slumber, it was to Portia’s earnest face, and no other sight will ground her now.

She throws off her sheets and lowers her feet to the cold marble. After grabbing slippers and a robe, she finds Portia at her desk, bent over a book. Though still in her own robe, she taps a quill against a notebook full of her careful, looping script. Gently, Nadia places a hand on her shoulder.

“Hard at work already?” Nadia asks.  
  
“Nadia! I’m just studying Zadith’s jury system.”

Her fiancé’s work ethic hasn’t changed since she was head handmaiden. She has a head start on her first project as consort—ensuring nobody’s brothers get falsely convicted. On any other day, Nadia would have left her to it. On this one, she rubs Portia’s shoulder through the sheer fabric and nibbles the shell of her ear until she drops her quill.

“Nothing is stopping us from staying here until dusk,” Nadia says. On second thought, her sweat-soaked bedding is currently unappealing. She lifts away just as Portia turns to her with a glint in her eye. “Alas, I have other plans.”

Portia fakes a gasp. “Plans? Didn’t you hear the countess outlawed plans?”

Indeed, as per Asra’s advice, Nadia miraculously cleared the day’s schedule. She had told him Portia needed a chance to relax. Preparing for the role of consort, on top of a royal wedding, must be more draining than she’ll admit. Knowing Nadia a tad too well, Asra suggested she not rigorously pencil in relaxation activities.

 _Why not rely on your intuition?_ he said with a grin. Nadia conceded the point, and immediately failed.

“I hoped she might spare us for committing to breakfast,” she says. “And of course, Mazelinka gave us those Nevivon bath salts, and the garden will be most pleasant before noon…”

They help each other into their casual dresses with minimal wandering hands. Nadia sits while Portia does her hair, a routine that melts her tension all the way from her head down her shoulders. She glimpses herself in the mirror. Her red irises seem to grow legs and skitter into the shadows.

She shakes herself. “It is your turn,” she says, rising to lift the comb from Portia’s hand. To her satisfaction, Portia does not even give a token protest before plopping into the chair. Nadia avoids looking at herself as she gently tends to Portia’s curls.

The moment they exit their chambers, the chancellor scrambles up. “Countess, please, come quickly!"

Portia and Nadia share a look before following them.

* * *

It is past breakfast when they finish putting out mostly-metaphorical fires. After double-checking with their subordinates, they slip away hand-in-hand to Portia’s cottage. The scent of lavender wafts toward Nadia, followed by dill. She slows to avoid crushing anything. No matter how much time Portia spends in the palace, this will always be their home, the one place they can unfurl.

They should have spent the night there. It is too late, both for that and breakfast, so they head inside to prepare lunch. Nadia doesn’t move with Portia’s ease in the kitchen, but Portia hands her knives and directions she’s glad to follow. She finishes slicing bread and moves on to cucumbers while Portia gets out smoked fish. As ever, the hilt of the blade in Nadia’s hand makes her feel more in control. Moreso than grasping by her hip and coming up empty.

She rubs her head. Before Portia can see, she drops her hand. Luckily, their friends are distracting Portia; Pepi stands on her hind legs to paw helpfully at the cupboards, while Chandra perches in the windowsill, hooting her suggestions. Portia chats with them both. A smile returns to Nadia.

As Portia recites what they’ll need for a picnic, Nadia mentally goes over her own checklist—everything she might have forgotten to sort out at the palace. She is still pondering it when they leave the cottage.

They head further into the woods, with Portia swinging a basket over her elbow and singing a Nevivon adventuring song. Upon reaching a clearing dappled with sunlight and clovers, they spread out a blanket and settle in. Pepi tries to climb inside the picnic basket. Nadia distracts her by winding up a clockwork mouse, which Pepi prepares to pounce on. It only zips once around the blanket before Chandra swoops off with it. Pepi darts off after her.

“Look at us, all alone,” Portia says. A dove coos from the trees as if arguing the point. Nadia takes her cue anyway, leaning in to twirl a lock of Portia’s hair.

“Whatever shall we do?”

With a mischievous look, Portia ducks away and reaches into the basket. “Eat, obviously, before a certain infamous thief returns.”

Undeterred, Nadia feeds Portia tiny sandwiches and cubes of cheese, her thumb brushing her lips. They manage half a meal before Portia’s place in Nadia’s lap grows counterproductive, her arms winding around Nadia’s neck and her tongue treating Nadia to tastes of everything Nadia has offered her. It is paltry. She can give so much more, and Portia is always so gracious in return.

With an arm around Portia’s waist, Nadia shifts forward. She massages the back of Portia’s neck, eliciting a sigh before sliding over to the bare skin of her shoulder. She could kiss each freckle with her eyes closed, but she presses until Portia lowers to the ground, a leg seeking purchase around Nadia’s hip.

Nadia lifts instead to admire her personal banquet. Portia’s flushed face is as full of trust as anticipation, her hair trailing off the blanket and curling in the grass. Nadia cups her face, brushing a thumb over her warm cheek, and leans down again.

A beetle emerges from the grass. Nadia releases Portia to smash it against the blanket. Just an ordinary bug.

As her wrist trembles, concern wrecks everything else she has brought to Portia’s face. “It wasn’t gonna eat that much—Nadia?”

Nadia rises and pulls her shawl back around her. Portia sits beside her, a hand on her arm.

“Are you all right?” Portia says.

“Quite so. My apologies.”

“You sure?” Portia’s sharp eyes study her, as capable of piercing the darkness as any cat.

“A nightmare has me a bit shaken. Unless it was a very vague prophecy, there is no cause for concern.” No pointed headache has indicated such, only a pervasive soreness stemming from her tight jaw.

Portia boops Nadia’s nose. Nadia blinks down at her finger, wary of resembling Pepi.

“Yeah, there is, silly. It concerns me because I love you, remember?”

Such a brief sentiment, yet Nadia grapples with it. “I… well. How convenient for us both, given that we are engaged.”

“Funny how that works! But really, Nadia. You can tell me these things. If it were me, you’d want me to let you know.”

“I intended to, if it persisted. After our date, of course. Today was meant for your relaxation.”

Portia clasps Nadia’s hands. “No, it was meant for _us_. We’re partners. We’re supposed to support each other. That shouldn’t be put in a box until it’s convenient.”

Though Nadia may soon have to remind Portia of the same thing, pointing out as much would be uncharitable. “Wise as always. I may still be learning. Forgive me, Portia.”

“No forgiveness. Only grapes.” Portia winks and yanks one off of a bunch to lift to Nadia’s lips. Nadia accepts the sweetness.

“I cannot believe you wouldn’t peel it for me,” she says, draping a hand across her forehead. Portia claps a palm above her chest.

“I’m so sorry! Please don’t throw me in the dungeons!” She sobers before Nadia can retort. “Hey, Nadia? We can go ask Asra for help, too, y’know. In case he has something for nightmares.”

“I would hate to worry him as well, but you may have a point.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy for some leftover lunch.”

“As long as we can visit with a friend at the same time,” Nadia says with a smile. She tilts Portia’s chin and strokes knuckles across her jaw, studying the color that returns to her face. “You were quite assertive just now.”

“I _am_ a future countess.”

“Oh, my. Then I suppose I must lavish you with attention.”

They don’t finish their meal before Pepi chases Chandra back into the clearing.


End file.
